Facade
by xGlowingAngelx
Summary: One shot. Matilda struggles to cope with recent events.


_A/N: This contains spoilers for UK viewers. Don't read if you don't like to be spoiled. This is set after Beth's death. It's a one-shot._

**Facade**

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. It wasn't supposed to happen to _her._ She'd spent the last few months being incredibly self-centered and selfish. She'd told herself numerous times it was all her fault. Having such a rough time over her relationship with Ric, watching him being sent to jail because of her and her stupid big mouth. And now... now _this._ She stood in front of the mirror hanging on her bedroom wall. Her hair fell over her shoulders and hung loosely down her back. Her lips pale and dry. Her eyes stone cold. She stared into them. 'It's all me fault. It's all my fault. _It's all my fault'_ she repeated. She ran into the bathroom and grabbing the soap, began scrubbing furiously over every inch of her body. She scrubbed so hard, she could feel her skin burning. Frustration seeped through every inch of her and she threw the soap into the sink and collapsed to her knees, sobbing. She had to make it go away. It had to stop. _It had to stop now._

---

Her mobile phone, abandoned on the dining table, vibrated loudly. Taking a deep breath, she grasped the ledge beside her and, using what little strength she had in her, pulled herself upright. She walked slowly towards the table, clinging to every peice of furniture in her obstacles just to keep herself from falling again. She _wouldn't_ fall again.

Finally reaching the table, she picked up the phone and glanced at the name and number illuminating the display. _Ric mobile._ She bit her lip softly, wondering whether or not to answer. He was worried about her, she knew that, but he needn't be. She was fine. She was _fine._  
With a pain aching her heart, she cancelled the call and sat, breathlessly, on the dining chair. For the first time since _it_ happened, she noticed just how empty the house was. The kitchen was spotless, no pots or pans lying abandoned on the worktops, no Kettle boiling for coffee. The sofa in the living room empty. The warmth that used to fill the place she called home was gone. A bitter cold draughted around, despite the temperature being at a high degrees. She wrapped her arms around herself and rocked gently. She was alone now. All alone now.

---

It was oddly unsettling just how much she missed the smallest details. The smell of perfume filling the air. The sound of the TV blaring as some old movie or other flashed fro the screen in a language she didn't understand. The sound of the voice of the one person she wanted to be with her more than anything.

Unnerved by the tension she felt, she slowly entered her bedroom. Flinging open her wardrobe, she scooped a pile of clothes, still on their hangers, into her hands and threw them onto the bed. One by one, she picked them up, discarding the clothes to a reckless heap on the floor beside her. 'I don't like this one. I don't want this one. I don't need this one. I don't want this one' she mumbled as item after item fell onto the floor.  
Twenty minutes and a full wardrobe later, she sunk onto the edge of her bed. _She was alone. She didn't want anyone. She didn't need anyone._ Casting her eyes to the dressing table by the window, she walked over, feeling the slow burning anger rise inside her. Reaching breaking point she swept every last item off it. Watching as make up, hairbrushes and perfume bottles fell onto the floor. Making a mess. Just like she was at the minute. A mess. Nothing but a disastrious mess.

Her collection of pictures stuck on her walls and around the mirror of her dressing table, staring at her. Staring at her.  
One by one, she pulled them off and slowly ripped each one right down the middle, trying to convince herself she couldn't feel the pain. Trying to convince herself she wasn't feeling that way.

A puddle of torn pictures fell to the floor, disguising her feet, her ankles. The mirror was bare. Not a single picture stood. Not a single memory she held. Not a single one. And that was OK, because she was alone now. And she didn't need them. She didn't need them. 

She stepped over the mess she'd made and ran to the kitchen, opening the fridge door with such force, she was amazed it hadn't come off. She closed her eyes for a second. _I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._ She reached her hands for the nearest item, a plate of roast turkey. She pulled it from the fridge and set it on the side, slowly removing the clingfilm. the only thing standing between them. 

_I'm so sorry._ She pulled a slice of turkey from the plate and stuffed it slowly into her mouth. Then she picked up another, and then another. Faster this time. She could feel a alunging in her stomach, but she didn't care. She pulled a bowl of casserole out and shovveled into her mouth with a spoon. Another spoonful, and another spoonful. 

Finally, she could feel it. Satisfied, she ran to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her, leaning her head over the toilet bowl, feeling herself about to throw up. She was alone, and it was good, because nobody could _see_ her. Nobody could _hear_ her. Nobody could _stop_ her. She did exactly what she needed to do, because it felt like the most natural thing in the world.


End file.
